


The Incident of Lord Pendleton's Glasses

by leonanette



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Humour, Manservant OCs, Sibling Abuse, The Pendleton Family, pre-game, reading glasses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 04:09:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10631895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonanette/pseuds/leonanette
Summary: Treavor needs reading glasses and Custis and Morgan never waste an opportunity to mock him for it. But, then, Morgan finds out that Custis needs reading glasses too and he decides to have some fun with them.





	1. Chapter 1 (Morgan)

**Author's Note:**

> There really needs to be more Pendleton fanfiction.
> 
> This was born out of this post (http://h-hux.tumblr.com/post/129572336090/aight-imagine-treavor-needing-reading-glasses-the) made by h-hux on tumblr about the Pendletons with reading glasses. Since Mischievous Morgan is one of my favourite headcanons, I decided to write a fanfiction about him messing with his brothers over it.
> 
> I also used this to practise writing different narrative voices. The first chapter and the epilogue will be from Morgan's POV, the second from Custis' and the last from Treavor's.

Custis Pendleton may be one of the best businessmen in all of Gristol but Morgan Pendleton was sure that his twin brother was also one of the silliest men he knew. He had confirmation of this when he started shutting himself up in his room to do the day’s paperwork.

“You’re always distracting me,” Custis replied irritably when Morgan asked, “I’m up to my neck in it and you keep carrying on about things you heard at the Golden Cat!”

“Well, then, give some of it to me. I clearly need something to occupy myself.” Morgan said, holding out a hand.

“No.” Custis whirled around, “No, it’s too complicated. These need my undivided attention.” He stalked out of the study and Morgan heard him stomping up the stairs.

It didn’t matter that he’d implied Morgan was too stupid to handle it. He had heard the real message loud and clear. Custis was hiding something from him and it was something important.

He left his own paperwork and slipped off his shoes, a precaution carried from childhood that never failed to quiet his footsteps when sneaking up on his brothers. The hall and first floor were deserted. Word had obvious spread among the servants that Custis was in a bad mood and they had all run for cover. Good. Morgan didn’t want anyone giving him away.

Custis’ bedroom door was closed but the keyhole gave him an excellent view of Custis’ writing desk. When he peered through it, he saw Custis working over a stack of papers with his back to the door. Morgan couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed. He had been hoping for something like a girl plucked off the street performing sexual acts or an occult ritual involving a naked dance. Still, it had to be something. He just had to keep looking.

In a few minutes, his patience was rewarded. Custis turned to the side to start recording an audiograph and something gold flashed on his nose in the lamplight. It took Morgan a moment to realise what it was and, when he did, a big grin spread over his face.

_Custis wore reading glasses._

This in itself was a somewhat amusing thing but what pushed it into being really funny was down to two things. One: the fact that he had attempted to hide it from Morgan. Two: for months, Treavor had taken to wearing reading glasses and Custis had mocked him for it even more than Morgan had.

_This is absolutely wonderful._

Morgan was already thinking about barging into the room to ‘catch him in the act’ –

No, that would be too quick. This revelation was far too juicy to be wasted on just a night’s argument. No, he needed to think of something better. Something more mischievous. Something that would teach Custis better than to keep things from his twin. And, to insult Morgan’s intellect.

* * *

 

Morgan had an idea formed in his head but he needed to get a closer look at those glasses to be sure it would work. It took him two days to get his chance. It would have taken one day but he and Custis went to the Golden Cat that night and Morgan…had a little too much fun. After spending the morning paying the madam for the wine and damages, Custis was in a thoroughly foul mood. It wasn’t made any better by the parliamentary debate on inter-Isle duty charges going badly against them. When Custis got home, he decided the best way to let off steam was to play ‘Hit-the-Treavor’.

“Wait, wait, wait, Custis!” Morgan caught Custis’ arm just in time before he flung the first china cup, “You can’t throw those cups at Treavor.”

Morgan looked sideways at Treavor, who had stopped trying to open the locked back door and was looking at Morgan with the hopeful expression Morgan loved to see.

“Why not?” Custis spat.

“Because, they cost good money.” He reached into a cupboard and brought out a thin cardboard box whose contents had been bought for just such an occasion, “Throw these, instead. I got them for two coin in that junk shop on Hedgerow Lane.”

Treavor’s face fell and Morgan laughed as he pulled up a chair and watched the chipped, discoloured cups fly. Treavor was getting better at dodging but he was still hit by two in the face, which shattered and made three large scratches.

“Just two points, Custis. Hard luck!” Morgan chortled as Treavor ran from the room, howling for his manservant.

“I hope no one saw you on Hedgerow Lane.” Custis snarled.

“Of course, not. I sent Marley to get them.”

“Good. The place is a total eyesore. It’s not at all fit for people of our high standing to be seen in. I’m thinking about dropping a word to Ramsey to have a new refinery built over it. We all need more refineries so the residents won’t complain. More jobs for the working people of Dunwall and all that. Now then,” He picked up his briefcase, “I need to go over these silver ore production figures before Timsh arrives. Don’t let anyone disturb me.”

“Does that include me?”

“Especially you.”

Morgan gave him a ten minute head start and, then, crept upstairs. Next to Custis’ room was a niche where the bust of Barnaby-Pendleton-the-Pendleton-who-build-the-Hall (he could never get the history master’s chant out of his head) stood on a plinth. If one moved it forward a few inches, it left a gap big enough for a man to crouch in. Morgan had discovered it during a game of Hunt-the-Treavor.  If Treavor was good for one thing, it was showing Morgan just where the best hiding places were.

Morgan sequestered himself behind it and waited with his ear pressed against the wall. After half-an-hour of rustling papers and two audiograph recordings, there was a sound of knocking at the front door. Custis’ sharp-nosed manservant, Orville, approached, knocked on Custis’ door and informed him that Timsh had arrived.

“Ten minutes early!” Custis groused as he followed Orville downstairs, “Right when I was in the middle of calculations!”

Morgan waited with mounting anticipation until he heard Custis’ faint voice from downstairs. Then, like a snake from its hole, he slipped out from behind the bust and into Custis’ room.

As he had hoped, Custis had dropped everything to meet Timsh. Including his glasses, which sat lens-down on a stack of papers. Though there was no danger of Custis coming back in for another half an hour, Morgan still made his way to the desk on tiptoe. He picked up the glasses and carefully turned them in his hands. The lenses were a thin oval encircled by a wire-thin gold frame.

Just as Morgan had hoped they would be. He put them on his own nose to see if the prescription was alike too. He almost laughed. It was like looking through two magnifying glasses so strong that he could pick out tiny individual flecks of ink on the desk’s surface. So, they were much stronger than Treavor’s.

_Oh, this is even better. I’m going to have a lot of fun with this._


	2. Chapter 2 (Custis)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have nicked a few ideas from Stephen King on writing thoughts but I'm sure I made Custis' narrative voice different from Morgan's anyway.
> 
> Warning - Treavor abuse ahead.

Custis started the day with a headache. A very common occurrence these days. Timsh wouldn’t take his case against the Boyles ( _damn Waverly, rubbing her bribery in my face, charming everyone with those eyes so she can get away with it_ ), the silver mines weren’t producing anything near what they should be and, to top it all off, Morgan had made an ass of himself at the Golden Cat again. Custis could have died of embarrassment as he hauled Morgan to the coach while he giggled like an idiot. His jacket, cravat, shirt and breeches were soaked with wine and Marley had pronounced them unsalvageable. So, he would have to add another suit to the growing pile of expenses this month _(always me who has to deal with it,_ _if only Morgan wasn’t so silly and Treavor so useless, I might not die of stress before I’m fifty)._

The headache didn’t fade as he finished his morning preparations, downed a glass of Bowden’s All Purpose Pain Remedy ( _Bowden doesn’t know what he’s talking about, half a glass is never enough_ ) and went downstairs for breakfast. In the breakfast room, he found Morgan and Treavor already there. Treavor pushed himself out of his seat but couldn’t leave the room fast enough. Custis caught him by the arm, “Where do you think you’re going?”

“T-to my room.”

“‘To my room’” Custis mimicked in a squeaky voice that made Morgan chuckle, “Without doing your morning work? How lazy of you. Orville! Bring me the post and the newspaper!”

Treavor’s arm twisted like a weasel in a trap but couldn’t break Custis’ grip. Orville returned with a small pile of letters and the morning’s copy of _The Dunwall Standard_ in his hands. He dragged Treavor back to his seat and placed the pile in front of him, “Read them to me while I’m eating. It’ll save me some time.”

Custis took his seat at the end of the table. From here, Treavor was seated beyond the blur so he could clearly see his little brother resignedly reach into his pocket and pull out his reading glasses. They magnified Treavor’s glasses to over twice their size and Morgan let out a loud laugh, “Oh, my word! Treavor, you look like a fly!”

Custis and Morgan laughed together as Treavor directed his eyes downwards and tried to read the first letter. He blinked several times and squinted as if not quite sure what he was seeing, which looked even funnier with the addition of glasses. Morgan was slapping his hand on the table with mirth and Custis felt a pain in his sides from laughing. Treavor had that effect on him. No matter how bad of a day he was having, Treavor’s struggling never failed to cheer him up. The scene became even funnier when Treavor extended his arms with the letter as far as they would go.

“For pity’s sake, Treavor, you’re not playing a trombone!” Custis cackled, “You’re supposed to be reading the letters to us.”

“I…can’t.”

“What? Are you saying you’ve forgotten how to read?”

“No!” Treavor flinched as if stung, “There’s something wrong with these glasses. I can’t see a thing in them.”

“A bad workman blames his tools, Treavor.” Custis waved a chastising finger at him, “Come on. Be a big boy and admit you have a problem.”

Treavor didn’t answer. He simply did his trombone act with the letters and attempted to read. Morgan moved out of his chair and stood over him, reading the letters over his shoulder and correcting him between laughs.

“Oh, never mind.” Morgan at last pulled away the letters, “We’ll be here all day at this rate. Off you go, Treavor.”

“Don’t think you’re off the hook.” Custis called after him, “You’ll stop reading out the letters in the morning when you go blind, not before!”

Morgan sat down in Treavor’s empty chair and began polishing off Treavor’s half-eaten breakfast while reading the newspaper. Custis did his best not to let it show that he couldn’t see the platters ( _not as many platters as there were when I was young_ ) directly in front of him ( _is that one egg or kippers_ ).

Custis took an experimental stab at the platter with his fork ( _it’s a kipper_ ) and brought the kipper to his plate. He took a large bite out of it and then picked up the letters. He could see nothing but a white blur but, by carefully positioning his fingers, he could feel the wax seal and pick out the distinctive features by touch.

“Rothwild. Probably another request to sell his shares. Brisby, that’s for Treavor. Bunting. Must be about the Sokolov painting. About time.”

“You know, you’d have a better idea of what the letters were about if you opened them.” Morgan gave him a mocking smile ( _does he know, no, no, I’ve been so careful_ ).

“Everyone’s so predictable. I don’t need to open them.”

“Ooh, very impressive. Can you tell how today’s parliamentary debate will go, then?”

“It’s sure to go in our favour this time. Everyone knows how much of a problem criminal gangs are and the Empress has a much too romantic notion on this. No one who knows anything of the world really believes that a gang member can ever be better than a gang member. The only thing they’re good for is hard labour and our mines are always open to new workers.”

“Oh, bravo!” Morgan gave him a small round of applause, “Talk like that and we might just win it this time.” He tossed a grape up in the air and caught it in his mouth before returning to the newspaper.

Custis ate the rest of his kipper in sullen silence. If anyone else had mocked him like that, he would have thrown his hot coffee in their face but there was an unconscious block on his mind when it came to Morgan. No matter how much his twin annoyed him, he could never think of lashing out at him.

“Ah, look, Custis. Boyle shares are up again.” And, the worst of it was that Morgan knew it.

Custis drained the last of his coffee and left the table. Behind his back, he could hear Morgan chuckling. As he was walking up the stairs, his annoyance at Morgan swirled around him like angry wasps ( _can’t take anything seriously to save his life, doesn’t he know how much we spend on slave ships_ ). By the time he reached his room, however, annoyance had turned to envy. He would give ( _almost_ ) everything he had not to care, to leave all the difficulties to someone else and never have to smooth over his transgressions.

He sat down at his writing desk, opened the top drawer and pulled out the reading glasses from beneath a stack of blotting paper ( _in its proper place, no one’s touched them_ ). He put them on –

And the blur didn’t disappear. A black blur appeared on the white but didn’t resolve themselves into intelligible words.

Custis reached up and took off his glasses with shaking hands. Had someone sneaked into his room and sabotaged them? No, no, that was impossible. No one knew he needed them. He hadn’t even taken Orville on his optician’s appointment and he’d worn a thick scarf and large hat to conceal his face. He’d taken every precaution to avoid the ignominy of looking like an old senile man…who wore glasses all the time.

( _no, no, no_ ) Custis pressed his hands against his eyes ( _you can’t do this to me, I’m Lord Custis Pendleton, I can’t be made a laughing stock_ ). He removed his hands. His vision was still blurred and the glasses still did nothing to fix it ( _that damned Harrison, I’ll have him and his family thrown out on the street –)_

 _No, you can’t_. A voice like Morgan’s spoke in his mind, _People will ask questions and they’ll figure out the truth. And, it won’t fix your eyes._

But, it couldn’t be permanent. It must be due to his headache that morning. If he just calmed down and relaxed for a few minutes, it would all clear up. Yes, that was it. He’d been overstretched and needed a rest. That was all, nothing serious.

He kicked off his shoes, stretched himself out on his bed and closed his eyes. For a moment, all was quiet. Not even the noise of Dunwall penetrated the walls. Complete relaxation was within Custis’ grasp –

_CRASH!_

( _what in the Void was that_ ) He heard Morgan laughing beyond his bedroom door and Custis pushed himself off the bed. When he opened the door, he saw Treavor rubbing his nose, his reading glasses askew, and Morgan doubled over from laughter. When Treavor caught sight of Custis, he tried to flee but, when he reached the end of the corridor, he didn’t turn in time and crashed headlong into the wall.

Custis let out a bark of laughter and inwardly cringed. It sounded worse than a Bottle Street Gang man ( _how does Morgan make his laugh sound so musical?_ ), “Are you sure you don’t want to order a white stick, Treavor? Maybe a guide hound?”

Treavor tugged off his glasses and hurried away. The twins kept on laughing until Custis put a hand up to his forehead – and realised that it was still blurry.

“Morgan!” Morgan didn’t stop laughing even as Custis ducked into his room and scooped up the envelopes, “You said a few days ago you wanted something to occupy yourself. Here!” He flung the letters into Morgan’s face, “You deal with these and don’t disturb me. I’ve got a headache!”


	3. Chapter 3 (Treavor)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Treavor's narrative voice was harder than the twins' but I think I just about managed it.
> 
> Warning - even more Treavor abuse ahead.

Treavor wanted to run away. Normally, the desire to fly from Pendleton Hall only struck him every two weeks but, now, he went to bed every night wishing he could run off somewhere.

Custis’ bad mood was reaching murderous levels and, of course, Treavor got the worst of it. Custis dumped huge piles of paperwork on Treavor’s writing desk every day and ordered him to have it all done before nightfall, “You’ve been useless for too long.” He had said, “It’s time you started pulling your weight.”

Treavor had protested, pointing to his own bulging in-tray and saying, “I am pulling my weight.” That was a bad mistake. Custis swooped down on him like a falcon on a rat, gripping Treavor by the neck and screaming in his face.

“ _You call that pulling your weight?_ _Why have you let your workload get into this state? Are you doing this on purpose? Are you trying to make me look a fool? It all comes back to me, you know! Everything you and Morgan do always comes back to me!_ ”

“No! No! I’m not doing anything like that!” Treavor raised his hands in the defensive position over his eyes. The blow was coming and, even though he couldn’t stop it, he could at least reduce the damage to his face.

“ _Oh, you must love it, sitting on your arse all day while I get called a layabout!_ ”

Custis slammed his fist into Treavor’s middle and every bit of air was knocked out of him.

“ _Well, you won’t get away with it. If I see anything in that in-tray when I come back, even just one note, I’ll tie you to this chair and make you go through all of our paperwork in one sitting without eating or sleeping! Is. That. Clear?_ ”

Custis punctuated the last three words with a cuff around Treavor’s ears. Once Treavor nodded, Custis released him and stalked out.

Treavor missed lunch that day, both in an effort to get all his work done and to avoid meeting Custis again. Doing the paperwork was even harder these days without the increased workload. Something was wrong with his glasses. They magnified everything around him to an absurd degree so things that looked only a few inches away turned out to be a few feet away. He had no idea what had happened to them but going out to have them checked was out of the question. Asking Custis to let him have the money for a replacement was little better than a suicide mission at this moment.

In the end, when the sun looked distressingly low in the sky, he called for Wallace to read everything out to him and Wallace rose to the occasion excellently. He not only read out the paperwork but did some calculations on production totals and similar things. Though some of his calculations were faulty, it still sped up the process and Treavor was able to empty his in-tray seconds before Custis burst in. Custis stared at the empty in-tray for a few long moments. Then, with a look of extreme annoyance on his face, he turned around and slammed the door.

Which was Custis-ese for ‘well done’.

 _And, I thought they were growing out of abusing me._ Treavor thought, miserably. The level of abuse he endured from his brothers had reduced as they had grown up and he was starting to wonder if, at some point in the future, it would stop completely.

Until now, that is.

A week after Custis’ black mood came (and just as Treavor was wondering whether it was worth begging Lord Shaw to let him hide at his house), his bedroom door opened. Wallace sprang away from the writing desk and busied himself with the curtains with a speed Treavor didn’t think possible of him.

But, it wasn’t Custis who entered. Morgan swaggered into the room, hands in his pockets and giving Treavor a wide smile, “Time for a break!” He sang, “Come out to Draper’s Ward with me, Treavor.”

Treavor’s suspicions were aroused at once, “Are you trying to get me into trouble?”

“Now, Treavor,” Morgan put his hand to his heart in mock horror, “how could you think such a thing of me?”

“Because, you know full well that Custis will murder me if this lot doesn’t get done by nightfall.” He gestured at the foot-high paperwork mound in his in-tray.

“That would be entertaining, I’ll give you that, but, no, that’s not my intention. Custis has gone out so, while he’s not here to breathe down our necks, we should have some fun.”

“My neck, you mean.” Apart from dealing with the letters and visitors, Morgan hadn’t received any extra work.

“Well, in any case, we both need a break. Come along, now. I insist. And, bring your reading glasses along. You’ll need them.”

Treavor glared at him, “You’re up to something.”

Morgan returned an evil grin, “Yes, I am and there’s nothing you can do about it. Wallace, bring him his coat and umbrella. It’s looking rotten out there.”

There was no getting around it. Within ten minutes, they were stepping into the coach and setting off. The paperwork pile weighed heavy on Treavor’s mind but Morgan’s was completely easy. He walked with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, waving at friends as they went by and saying things like, “Lovely day, isn’t it?” even when a torrential rainstorm had struck.

Everyone said it was easy to tell the twins apart when Morgan smiled. Mostly because Custis never smiled in public.

It was almost pleasant being in Morgan’s company. He only really bullied Treavor when Custis was around and it made Treavor think that, if Custis hadn’t been born, perhaps, he and Morgan could have been close.

“Right then.” Morgan said as they left the tailor after ordering Morgan’s new suit, “Time for your surprise.”

“Surprise?” Treavor knew it was all too good to be true.

“A trip to the optician to get your glasses fixed.”

Treavor was still wary, “That’ll cost a lot. Custis might - ”

“Oh, never mind what Custis thinks. As funny as it’s been to see you run into walls and have Wallace read everything to you, it’s starting to wear thin. We’ll get your glasses sorted out and then we’ll go home. You’ll have plenty of time to finish your work then.”

The coach picked them up near the entrance to Draper’s Ward and took them away from the major thoroughfare and into a less respectable-looking street.

“Uh, Morgan. My optician is in Euhorn Square.”

“This one’s where you want to be, trust me.”

Morgan indicated a rather shabby-looking shopfront across the road with the peeling paint words ‘Doctor Harrison’s Optical Clinic. Purveyor of Visual Corrective Instruments’ written across the top. Morgan hopped out of the carriage, told the coachman to wait and beckoned Treavor towards it, a finger pressed to his lips. Once they reached the door, Morgan put a finger under the letterbox flap, pulled it up and pressed his ear to it. He grinned as an angry voice floated out and beckoned Treavor to listen in too.

“… _only going to tell you one more time, you fat-headed troll. These glasses do not work and I demand that you replace them at once!_ ”

It was Custis’ voice.

But what would Custis be doing in an optician? Surely, he wasn’t here on account of Treavor’s glasses.

“I’m s-so sorry, milord,” An unfamiliar voice answered, “but the test clearly shows that your prescription hasn’t changed at all. There’s no need for new glasses.”

Treavor’s mouth dropped open. Custis needed reading glasses? After all those weeks he spent making fun of Treavor for it? He was barely given time to process this revelation before Morgan grabbed his shoulder, opened the door and walked in.

Custis jumped when the bell rang and tried to cover up his face with his collar. Then, he recognised them. His face drained of all colour and his expression was similar to one of a lady who had been disturbed while dressing. Treavor could not think of a thing to say. His first instinct was to apologise, dart out and pretend he hadn’t recognised Custis but, before he could act on it, Morgan broke the shocked silence.

“I’m terribly sorry, Doctor Harrison.” He said in an airy way that meant he knew just what was going on, “There’s been quite a silly misunderstanding here. Custis,” His hand dipped into Treavor’s pocket and pulled out his reading glasses, “these belong to you.” He put them in Custis’ pocket and picked up an identical pair from the counter, “and, Treavor, these belong to you.” He put them in Treavor’s pocket.

To avoid Custis’ gaze more than anything, Treavor looked around at the opening times on the door and put the glasses on. Sure enough, the blur resolved itself into a field of clear vision around him.

“There, you see.” Morgan said, “Really, you two, didn’t it ever occur to you that you might have got your glasses mixed up?” He gave a polite laugh and turned to the moustached, bewildered-looking optician, “Again, terribly sorry. So, this means Treavor doesn’t need to attend his appointment now and I do hope my brothers haven’t caused you too much inconvenience. Good day!”

With a broad grin on his face, Morgan put one arm around Treavor and the other around Custis and led them out of the shop. Once the door had closed behind them, Morgan said, “Honestly, you two, it’s supposed to be Custis and I that get our things mixed up. Aren’t you glad that Treavor and I ran into you, Custis? Outsider only knows how much of a needless expense I averted.”

Treavor could almost feel Custis’ anger like a heat haze in the air. He too was starting to feel rage scorching his brain, burning away his blank shock, as he realised what Morgan must have done. If he hadn’t been in public, he would have had some choice words with him but, once the coach door closed behind them, Custis got there first.

“You son of a bitch, Morgan.”

Morgan threw his head back and laughed so hard that he drowned out the rest of Custis’ speech. Custis instead had to settle for Treavor’s response: seething in silence, only stopping to mutter.

“I’m going to kill him.”

Fury made Treavor bold and he retorted, “No, you won’t.”

“Why not?”

“If you do, I’ll get his seat in parliament _and_ I’ll be your next-in-line. Unless you feel like marrying.”

Custis responded with only stony silence. Which was Custis-ese for ‘fair point’.

Morgan didn’t stop laughing all the way home, oblivious to his brothers’ increasing ire. Every ‘ha’ felt like a slap again Treavor’s skull and the urge to punch him rose with every second. At last, when they stopped in front of Pendleton Hall, Custis snapped. He reached over, tugged Morgan’s cravat forward until they were almost nose to nose and snarled, “If you don’t shut up right now, I’m going to take my penknife and put out your eyes. Then, we’ll see how you like being unable to see what’s in front of you.”

Treavor could sense what was coming and left the coach as unobtrusively as possible. He only just managed to get clear of the carriage and out of punching range before Custis flung himself out and stormed into the Hall. Morgan followed soon after and, unbelievably, he was still chuckling.

“You’ve gone too far this time.” Treavor shook his head at him.

“No, I haven’t.” Morgan said, brightly.

It became clear in the next hour that he was wrong. Custis didn’t even barge into Treavor’s room to check on his paperwork nor did he come down for dinner. Orville had braved bringing a dish up to his room but received no response.

Treavor didn’t like this at all. The death-like silence from upstairs twisted his nerves in painful knots. If Custis was shouting abuse or throwing things, it would be better. At least, he would know when to make himself scarce. In the face of silence, however, he had no idea how to respond.

Morgan, of course, was as careless as ever. He broke into sniggers every few minutes and said things like, “Oh, I wish I’d brought along Sokolov. Your faces were a picture.”

After an hour, Morgan had showed no sign of remorse, “Oh, dry up, Treavor. Even you have to admit that it was hilarious.”

“Sorry. When I’m at risk of being murdered in my bed, I have a rather hard time seeing the funny side of things.” Morgan’s laugh fuelled the fire in Treavor’s head and urged him on to say, “I’m serious. You know he always takes it out on me whenever you pull one of your tricks!”

“I know.” Morgan smirked, “That’s why I love doing it.”

Treavor left the drawing room, feeling like smoke would start coming out of his ears any moment, and shut himself up in his room with his audiograph. If he was murdered in the night, it was best to leave behind some record as to why.


	4. Epilogue (Morgan)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put two chapters up today so I might as well finish this fic off.
> 
> I confess, I love writing Morgan. He's a lot of fun to write and I couldn't help returning to him to round things off. So, will Morgan learn his lesson and become a more sensitive sibling?

_‘You’ve gone too far this time.’_

But that was ridiculous. Treavor had a habit of overreacting and Custis had forgiven him for every other little prank. Just a quick game of Hit-the-Treavor to let off steam and all would be forgiven.

But, Custis hadn’t beaten Treavor. He had just shut himself up in his room. He had even threatened to put Morgan’s eyes out earlier. An empty threat, of course, but still unprecedented.

Perhaps, he should go up and check that Custis hadn’t done something even more silly than usual.

Or, perhaps, he would have a glass of that cherry brandy.

The brandy vanished quicker than he would have liked and Morgan was about to pour himself another before he stopped himself. Not that there was worried about Custis getting angry at him for being drunk. He just…didn’t want to waste expensive drink over nothing.

As he walked upstairs, he could faintly hear Treavor’s voice. Probably recording the event on his audiograph. Or, perhaps pretending to record it to make it look like he wasn’t sulking in his room like a child. Like Custis was probably doing at the moment.

Morgan had come to the conclusion a long time ago that Custis and Treavor were much more alike than either of them knew. He would tell them that one day. Their reactions would be hilarious.

He reached Custis’ door and knocked the smart military tune he’d picked up in childhood, “Custis, are you ready to come out now?”

No answer came. There was only the soft sound of rustling from within followed by the unmistakable sound of a pistol being loaded then cocked. Morgan took a swift step to the left and, a moment later, there was a loud _BANG_ and a hole was blasted through the door. Splinters flew everywhere and the bullet hit the wall opposite, making a black cracked hole.

“Oh, there goes the wallpaper.” Morgan sighed, “And, the door. And any hope of keeping within our budget this month. You know, between you and Treavor, the Hall is turning into the most redecorated house in Dunwall.” No thought that Custis had meant to shoot him rather than the wall was permitted in his head. The bullet hole was too low to hit any vital organs, for a start.

“ _Piss off!_ ” Custis screamed through the hole, “That was your fault!”

“I’m not the one holding the smoking pistol.” Morgan sauntered over to the door, put his hand through the hole and turned the key on the other side. He opened the ruined door just as Custis raised the pistol again, “Custis, do you want to have a talk like a sensible man or do you just want to drive up the renovation bills?”

Custis’ face twisted into a scowl but he said nothing. Good. It meant Morgan had made his point. Custis lowered the pistol and turned his back on him to face the window.

“I hope you enjoyed yourself today.” Custis said in a voice of forced calm.

“Oh, yes. Immensely.”

“Oh, good. Good.” The light tone was so unlike Custis that, for the first time that week, Morgan became uneasy, “So am I. I’m making the most out of the last evening I have before I become a laughing stock.”

“You think you’re going to be a laughing stock just because you wear reading glasses?”

“Only senile old men need reading glasses!” Custis snapped, “I might as well hand in my retirement notice! No one’s going to take me seriously once this gets out!”

“Don’t be so daft, Custis. No one’s going to think less of you for needing glasses. And, as far as I know, far-sightedness is not a sign of senility.”

“ _Is it physically impossible for you to stop being a smartarse_?” Custis finally whirled around to face him. His face was contorted with anger in a way Morgan usually found hilarious but whatever humour he might have gained from the situation was eliminated by the realisation that Custis’ eyes were filled with tears, “ _Who cares whether it is or isn’t? Don’t you know the sort of things they’ll say about me behind my back? Insect-eyes, blind as a cavefish, old before his time, I wonder if everything else is becoming defective -_ ”

“Oh, who cares what those idiots in Parliament think?” Morgan cut across the wild rant, “It won’t stop you being the Head of the Pendleton family or prevent you from pushing the state our way. And,” Morgan added, preventing Custis from responding, “I know you might find this hard to believe but not everyone treats other people like you treat Treavor.”

He had hit the bullseye. Custis could not think of any response. He simply stood there with an expression like a child who had been denied a treat. Then, he whirled around again and dropped into the windowseat. The silent treatment stretched on for a full minute before Morgan gave in and sat down opposite him. Custis still would not look at him and continued glaring out of the window with wet eyes.

Morgan sighed again and said more seriously, “But, what the politicians say about you isn’t the issue, is it? You think Treavor’s going to make fun of you to get revenge for teasing him about his glasses, don’t you?”

Custis said nothing and his expression did not change.

At that very moment, the truth hit Morgan like a sack of bricks, “Oh. You thought _I_ was going to make fun of you, didn’t you?”

Custis squeezed his folded arms tighter and, after shifting uncomfortably for a bit, growled, “It’s not fair. Why is it only me that gets defective eyes? Why hasn’t your vision gone wrong too?”

“Who can say?” Morgan shrugged, “I’m no Natural Philosopher. The real question is why you thought I would _ever_ poke fun at you for something you can’t help.”

“You just _did_!” Custis retorted with a cracking voice, “You laughed yourself stupid in the coach and that’s why you swapped our glasses in the first place, isn’t it? Wanted to rub it in my face, didn’t you?”

“By the Void, brother dear,” Morgan only called Custis ‘brother dear’ when he was annoyed at him, “you’ve really got the wrong end of the stick. I didn’t play that joke on you because you needed glasses. I played that joke because you felt the need to hide it from me and everyone else. And, don’t you start that ‘everyone-will-make-fun-of-me’ nonsense again. Who ever made fun of you for anything?”

Custis had no answer.

“And, even if some suicidal fool did decide to make fun of you, what makes you think that I wouldn’t make him regret he’d been ever born?”

Again, Custis stayed silent but his posture relaxed a bit. Morgan thought he even saw the flicker of a smile on his face.

This might have led on to something more touching but Custis’ stomach chose that moment to give a loud rumble.

“That’s what you get for missing dinner.” Morgan waved an admonishing finger, “It’s probably gone cold by now. I’ll see if I can’t scrounge up something from the kitchen.”

He left the room and was just thinking about bringing up the rest of the brandy to share with Custis when he nearly ran into Orville in the entrance hall.

“Are you leaving us, Orville?” Morgan asked, a grin spreading over his face.

“Oh, no, sir. You see, sir, Lord Custis has run out of Bowden’s All-Purpose Pain Remedy and the chemist closes in ten minutes. I won’t be gone long, sir. If Lord Custis needs anything, Marley said he’ll take care of it, sir.”

Morgan let Orville hurry off with many bows and promises that he would be back soon. He strolled down to the kitchens with a widening smile on his face and, sure enough, the empty bottle lay on one of the counters.

He gave the maids present orders to prepare a quick meal for Custis and, as they were distracted by their work, Morgan picked it up. He examined the bottle, tasted some of the lingering orange drops of the stuff (and regretted it as soon as the bitter taste hit his tongue) and examined the label. Looking beyond the guarantee of ‘instant relief for any bodily aches’, he came upon the small print on the back

_‘Caution: No more than half a cup must be taken in the space of twelve hours. Taking more than the prescribed dosage can result in minor side effects such as diminished effectiveness of the remedy, addiction to the remedy, increased irritability.’_

“Marley!” Within seconds of his call, Morgan’s moustached manservant had appeared, “I need some orange cordial, cornflour and chamomile. In fact, bring me all the spices in the kitchen. I find out the right one eventually.”

_Now, how long will it take Custis to notice the difference?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, he won't! And, I wouldn't have it any other way.


End file.
